Tempest
by TsukiiS
Summary: It's just a story that follows the song "Better Than I Know Myself" by Adam Lambert. No dialogue, but it's presented more from Romano's POV. Romance between Spain and Romano is mentioned, but there is nothing explicit.


He yelled. He cursed. He told the other he hated him. He told him to leave and never come back because he didn't need a bag of shit to weigh him down. Then, as quickly as the words spilled from his lips, he screamed that he would leave instead because he didn't want to live in a house that was tarnished by the older nation's flaws.

Romano couldn't control his temper when he was around Spain, a part of his crude personality that he was unable to change. Yet, Spain accepted him for his flaws. Romano hated it-hated that he couldn't return Spain's kindness. Instead, he turned the flame into a raging fire and returned Spain's love with venom. He purposely said awful things to the other nation, but he couldn't stop himself. His anger only grew with more fervor when the older nation would laugh off his tantrums. Spain was oblivious to Romano's inner turmoil. That fact alone hurt Romano, and, of course, Romano knew of no other way to combat his pain other than with battle.

Romano knew he was cruel-screaming bitter lies to other only to see how much Spain could bear. Yes, if Romano could muster a reaction—anything that wasn't a lighthearted laugh or a gentle smile—then his lies were worth every bitter sting to his pathetic heart. He was immature that way, he knew, but he had to know he had as much influence over the older nation as Spain had over him. He needed to see with his own eyes—the same eyes into which Spain endlessly stared as if lost in a sea of innocent serenity—that he could break Spain with words alone. He needed to know he had this ability; he knew too well that with a simple "I hate you," Spain could end Romano's life in a second, and that thought alone terrified—disgusted—Romano. He didn't want to love the other more than Spain loved him.

Still, even when he did get a reaction, even when he successfully wounded the other enough that their little fight turned into a war-like battle, Romano wasn't satisfied. No, instead he felt guilty, and he hated the older nation for making him feel that way. He hated that, no matter how many times he told Spain he didn't need him or that he hated him, those words were a lie. It was like Romano was trying to change the direction of a river; no matter how many times he spoke those lies, they would never become the truth. He knew this fact—knew from the onset of his inner battle that Spain was his lifeline—but he wanted more than anything to change his heart. If he could turn the lies into truths, he could win this stupid battle he started; he could finally win a war for his personal gain.

But his mind and his heart took separate paths, creating an earthquake within Romano that slowly caused his insides to crumble. His damn heart wanted to take back the knives he brutishly dug into the other. But he knew this vicious onslaught of cruel words could not be undone. He knew he went too far again, and Spain wouldn't give him an understanding smile this round. And Romano didn't t want Spain to be kind to his wavering heart; he didn't want Spain to be kind because, no matter how much he hated himself for his unbalanced emotions, he didn't want a pacified reaction. He wanted Spain to be angry so Romano could win—no—fix this mess himself and tell Spain that he was lying all along.

Yes, he was lying for all those centuries they've been in each other's lives. How cruel. He was lying to Spain for too long, he realized painfully too late, and he wished they weren't lies so the realization of all those wasted years didn't hurt so much. He prayed so much that he could stop the lies spilling from his quivering lips, but no one listened to his cries. He just wanted to know that Spain needed him as much as he needed Spain—that this lifeline ran from both of their hearts and united at the center.

And when Spain told—no, angrily spat out in an attempt to conceal his pain—the younger nation to leave if he really wanted to, Romano bit back the urge to yell back that he could never leave Spain. Spain was stupid, Romano knew, because if Romano really hated Spain, he would have left a long time ago. If he hated Spain, he wouldn't have put up with the useless wars the older nation dragged them into. He wouldn't have put up with the undying concern that always haunted his nights whenever the older nation left for a campaign or another voyage. He would have left before Austria had the chance to take him away, even though he wasn't fully capable of taking care of himself. He would have left Spain alone when they were finally separated, but he chose to visit the older nation even when he no longer depended on Spain.

It was impossible for Romano to leave Spain, and the younger nation bitterly wondered how stupid the Spaniard had to be not to realize this fact. Romano knew, though, that he was also stupid because how in the hell could he even expect Spain to know? And that's why Romano couldn't stand the older nation. He hated that Spain didn't understand Romano's true feelings, even after they've spent so many years together. Romano was scared that Spain didn't understand him at all, even though they were much more alike than Spain realized.

Spain always acted so cheerful, so unaffected by the brutal world around them. But Spain hurt just like Romano did, and Romano hated that he didn't stop hiding his internal suffering—knowing that in this way they were exactly the same. He hated that Spain pretended like he was not hurt by Romano's words—like any of Romano's feelings, good or bad, didn't matter to the older nation. But Romano made sure Spain thought he was unaffected as well. They were so different yet so alike, and it was this uncanny balance that kept them together for so long.

And when the two continued to fight, a battle of never-ending screams and restrained tears, Romano pretended it didn't hurt him, just as Spain had always pretended that nothing in the world affected him. But Romano knew all too well that he was suffocating. Even after the argument subdued, he acted like the angry words that left the older nation's usual gentle lips did not tear his heart to shreds as if a hundred starving vultures pulled his heart to shreds. Were those not the same gentle lips that caressed his skin at night, when their souls would meet in a passionate dance?

And that's when Romano knew that no matter how hard he tried to conceal it from himself and from the other, that all of this pain was real. Spain mattered, and the pain Romano caused the older nation mattered. How long would it take for Spain to finally be fed up with the younger nation's tantrums? How much more would he bear before he decided this so-called love wasn't worth anything and left the younger nation, scared and alone and lost and on the brink of despair? Romano couldn't bear the thought; he knew he could not survive without the other, and he hated himself even more for not making that clear from the start.

Like a scared child, Romano curled up in the blankets, engulfing himself in the familiar scent of the Spaniard. It made him feel safe, and he shuddered at the thought of the scent disappearing, being replaced with nothing but a reminder of his solitude. And so he bit his lip until his vision blurred and his eyes filled with tears that dared not fall. He was scared-scared that this night would be the first of many he would spend alone, with only his insecurities and fear to serve as taunting companions And he wondered why he had to be such a brat; why could he not just tell Spain that he wanted him to lie by his side forever, until the world was peaceful and there were no more wars and no more suffering—until only the sun burned in the sky, jealous of the warmth the two created when they were in each other's arms.

And when the older nation found his way into Romano's bed through the depths of the darkness that engulfed this moment, Romano knew he could never leave Spain. No, how could he ever even think that he could part ways with him again, not when Spain so easily pushed away the hateful words that came from the younger nation's lips and wrapped his strong, warm arms around Romano.

Romano didn't let the tears fall; he never did, or at least he tried his best to hide them whenever Spain was around, but he shivered against the gentle touch and allowed himself to enjoy the comfort of the older nation's embrace. He knew he didn't deserve this love—knew that he was cruel, immature, and annoying. He told lies to hurt the other only for the purpose of knowing he had the ability to cause the other pain. But he knew, knew in the depths of his battered heart and fucked up mind, that he loved the other nation with his entire being. And if they ever found themselves out of the company of each other, Romano knew he wouldn't survive. Spain was the only thing in this world Romano would die without.

The tempest would continue eventually—it always did. But tomorrow, they would awaken in each other's arms and spend the day together because it was the only way they knew how to live. The fight would fade into a shadow of a memory, and all of their problems would dissipate for the moment, leaving nothing but a calm after the storm. And as they slept in the comfort of each other's presence, accompanied only by the gentle hums of the cold wind outside and the soft harmony of their breaths, they both knew they could never leave each other—and they never would.

* * *

A/N: Inspired by Adam Lambert's song "Better Than I Know Myself."

One of the lyrics in this song is "You're the only thing in this world I would die without." I use this quote basically word for word in this story. I think it's so beautiful and meaningful for some reason, so I wanted to include the meaning of these lyrics in the story but couldn't bring myself to actually alter the words. (I tried but failed.) Thus, I can't take credit for those words as they are not my own.

Thanks for reading!


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